


Resurgence

by ScotchNStout



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Exile, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Family Dynamics, Family Reunions, Jon Snow is a Targaryen, Other, R plus L equals J
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-24
Updated: 2016-01-19
Packaged: 2018-04-17 00:08:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4645083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScotchNStout/pseuds/ScotchNStout
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jon Snow decides to join the Night's Watch in 295 AL, a decision which leads to truths long thought buried being revealed and with the interference of one key player changing the fate of Westeros for generations to come.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

 

THE WALL

295 A.L

Jon knew he was bleeding and fatigued, his long sword felt heavier in his weary arms yet it continued with it's arcs, whipping through the chilled night air parrying and thrusting almost as if merely an extension of his arms whether on instinct or sheer determination he couldn't be sure but what he did know was that this was a dance he was familiar with nothing like the dances his little sister cajoled him into and unlike at Winterfell at this feast of blood and mayhem he wasn't left wanting for a partner.

The fear he felt earlier that night following the succession of wails from the horn located at the top of the wall quickly left him the first time his sword drew blood and he only grew in confidence with every man that fell at his feet. This was what he wanted he reasoned with himself, to be more than his birth afforded him to finally be looked at as more than 'The bastard of Winterfell'. In truth he was seeing the folly of his rash decision and the reason behind his Lord father and uncle's reluctance for him to take the black because the tales of glory and honor at the wall he held onto as a boy fell well short of what the place actually was and saw it now he did, it was a punishment, banishing all the unwanted souls of the realm under threat of death or dismemberment. The only promise held within these walls were cold nights and death and he already accepted one of these promises this night and he was loathe to accept the other.

The battle continued as another wildling fell before him his sword slicing through the other man's stomach raining blood onto the ankle deep snow, after what felt like hours he was finally given a reprieve from the blood letting and allowed himself a chance to rest which he readily accepted panting as he took in the chaos that engulfed the inner courtyard of Castle Black. Many of his would be brothers and wildlings alike lay motionless their lifeblood staining the once virgin snow, yet the wildlings persisted scaling the southern wall of the castle one sometimes two by two.

Taking one final breath and stealing his courage Jon pushed forward trying to ignore his sore muscles as he continued with his dance engaging another partner to a ballad of steel caressing steel. Time in the midst of a battle is subjective especially doing something that came as a second nature to him, something he did at Winterfell since he could walk so really for as long as he could remember for hours each day and it was that monotony that was keeping him alive. There was no blood lust no thrill, no shame, and surprisingly no guilt in killing for him it simply was so when their numbers dwindled to all but naught and a cry of victory rippled throughout the grounds from the brothers in black he could only sigh in relief that it was finally over.

Wearily stepping over both brothers in black and wildings as he searched for his uncle in the midst of the chaos the aftermath of the battle created was proving much more difficult than anticipated under the starless night. The night air was crisp and the snowfall seemed incessant, his very breath misting and clouding before him before disappearing on the wind, the only illumination came from the sparsely lit torches surrounding the castle. The boiled black leather which his armor consisted of fit loosely around his lithe upper body, his shoulder length mahogany flowing messily around his face in the strong winds obscuring his vision as he pressed on. The blood of both his enemies and his own all but forgotten as it clung to his black boiled leather, gloved hands and face as he wandered through the courtyard.

He continued his search for his uncle even though at the wall he wasn't the man Jon remembered from his visits to Winterfell who always had a great tale of his rangings beyond the wall or an easy smile for him and all his siblings. That all changed when they arrived at the wall a little more than two moons ago, gone was the uncle he remembered from his youth and from then on he met Benjen a man of the Night's Watch.

His search was coming up empty until across the courtyard a couple hundred feet away from him amongst other rangers and the lord commander Mormont surveying the damage done to the castle did his eyes finally find his uncle's face which held a small smile directed towards him, not one of mirth but one Jon could ascertain was pride and that in itself made all the difference tonight for Jon. Hesitantly returning the smile he made his way over to his uncle. 

He didn't make it more than a couple feet before a sharp piercing pain erupted in his right shoulder suddenly forcing him to drop his long sword and stop his forward momentum, his already tired legs shaking with the effort to remain upright. His eyes were still on his uncle and with how quickly his whole face morphed into concern it only confirmed what he already figured out. Hesitantly his eyes drifted downwards almost in tandem with the rise of his left hand as he tentatively touched the blood soaked metal tip of the arrow protruding from the right side of his chest. Dropping his hand he turned looking for his attacker swaying unsteadily as he did, it didn't take more than a heartbeat for the short red headed girl to come into view, because that's what she was she couldn't of been more than a few years older than he himself, bow string already taut and aimed directly towards him.

The second arrow hits almost directly center on his chest pushing the remaining air from his lungs in a pained grunt, so with no energy or will left to support his own weight his legs gave way displacing both snow and mud as his knees came into contact with his namesake. The corner of his vision started to blur and the sounds of night faded too as the metallic taste of his own blood surged up his throat wetting his chapped lips before slowly easing past them dribbling down his chin. His body grew lax and his lids seemed heavier as he struggled to keep his eyes open. Drifting in and out of consciousness he barely noticed another arrow being notched, his focus was on the girl's mane of red hair, hair so familiar that unbidden to him his thoughts go to his father's lady wife. Aye now he knew the gods had a sick sense of humor, that errant thought brought a bloody smile to his lips causing the wildling girl to hesitate for a moment before resolve settled into her features and she loosed her third arrow which grazed the left side of his cheek just a few inches under his eye taking flesh and hair with it and leaving only blood.

He could feel the darkness creeping in dancing on the edge of his vision from his prostrate position on the ground, he could feel it it was their in his periphery trying to overwhelm him and pull him down with it but before he could succumb to it he saw Mormont's raven hanging onto the railing of one of the second story walk ways clinging to the darkness save for a faint outline illuminated by the lit torch that hung on the wall behind it, staring at him as if peering into his soul searching for something long since hidden or maybe you just lose your senses before dying, to his oxygen deprived mind they both seemed plausible, but there was no mistaking the screech the creature made just before the darkness welcomed him, above the shouting of his name or the crackling of the fires and the hundreds of other sounds that could've been heard this night it was the screech of 'KING', 'KING', that he registered before being taken under by the darkness.

One raven left Castle Black that night hours after the pyres have been lit and the fires put out, and the dead accounted for, a solitary raven flew south from the wall carrying news of the fate of a recruit to the warden of the north.


	2. Revival

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Firstly let me apologize for my absence if there is anyone still reading this but when the motherboard on my laptop crashed and I lost all the progress I was making like chapter notes and the like, just sort of lost the zeal to continue for a while so I focused on school and work for a little bit. Fuck this, long story short I got a new laptop and I'm back, cheers.

Disclaimer: I own nothing

UNKNOWN

 

Consciousness came back abruptly to Jon Snow as he shot up from his prostrate position amongst a bed of charred brick and rubble, their was no pain when he woke, frost tipped leaves swayed overhead untethered against the harsh winds and doing nothing to shade the illumination given by the moon and stars that hung above.

His thoughts were a mess, a fragmented broken mess, a state in which his anxiety only grew as he sat alone and tried to make sense of his jumbled thoughts. Then suddenly it all fell into place via a cascade of images, no memories, yes memories from leaving Winterfell to his journey north to the wall to the battle of castle black and finally the blood covered arrows imbedded in his body.

Instinctively his left hand rose towards his chest to staunch the blood flow that assuredly had already soaked through his black leathers, but their was none. Looking down to further investigate he found no more blood flowing from where he knew his wounds were, instead of the expected blood what he saw only further confused him, thick black smoke flowing freely through his gloved hands on it's journey upward before finally dispersing amongst the strong winds.

The lack of blood from his wounds would of usually been seen as a blessing, but to Jon only more questions arose, questions that he did not have an answer to. Unblinkingly he stared at the black smoke seeping through his fingers, was he dead, where the fuck in the seven hells was he if he wasn't, he was so deep in thought that the tell tale scrunch of leather meeting brick from behind him went unnoticed until a shadow was upon him.

“Welcome home my son,” the solemn voice and sudden appearance of the stranger dragged him from his morose thoughts, so much so that he couldn't contain the damn near womanly shriek that passed through his lips and filled their once quiet surroundings as he scuttled backwards to try to put some space between him and the intruder. If it had been any other time Jon knew he would've been embarrassed to the point of turning ten different shades of red but luckily for him today just wasn't one of those days.

Jon spent enough time in maester Luwin's lessons to identify a Targaryen or at the very least someone with Valyrian blood, and there was no mistaking the dark indigo eyes and pale blond hair as anything but, he wore black armor that shone under the moonlit night with the three headed dragon on his chest plate wrought in flawless red rubies, Jon was vaguely aware that the man was assessing him as well but it was of little consequence to the questions that he had so he voiced them in order of priority from his still seated position.

“Who in the seven hells are you,” the man's previous words were of little consequence to Jon who was much more interested in the man's name than any sense of propriety. 

The still unnamed man regarded him for a moment longer before his eyes drifted to the left in the direction of what could of once been an archway, now it was only charred brick which led to more ruins. It was another moment still before he answered.

“You look the exact image of your mother.” it wasn't the answer to the question he had asked of the man, but it was words that held the potential to break him non the less, maybe it was the mere mention of someone admitting to knowing the identity of his mother besides Lord Stark or the melancholic tone it was said in but the facade he was trying to build broke away as quickly as it was built to reveal the lonely desperate child that longed for a mother's love above all else and it froze away any retort Jon might have had, so he did all he could do in that moment, nothing.

“Mistakes, I have made many, the scope of which I couldn't fully comprehend in my youth.” Rheagar continued abandoning his position above Jon to stand before what could have been a window on the far end of the room they currently occupied. 

The downward motion of his head was almost imperceptible yet it still displaced some of the straight silvery locks atop his head. His dark lilac eyes finally drifted back to Jon's and suddenly softened once more. The affection that was suddenly alight within the supposed Targaryen's eyes were unmistakeable, unquestionable yet it only provided more questions for Jon, questions he didn't need to voice as of yet, because it didn't seem like he was going to get a straight answer, yet the questions remained. 

Jon's guest seemed amenable to the silence, and totally ignorant towards the growing maelstrom of Jon's inner thoughts.

Contrary to popular believe Jon was in no way daft so the now supposed dead prince's words rang through his head, he knew he carried the traditional look of the Starks, just like Arya, Benjen and his father, mayhaps his jaw was more angular and his nose a bit straighter and his black irises would alternate between grey and lilac in certain light attributes which he previously attributed to his then unknown mother, no just no he wasn't going to let his thoughts take him there, just no. 

He had heard many stories of what happened to the woman who may have been his aunt or someone much more important if the words of the dead prince were to be believed, and the more he thought about the prospect of knowing at the very least the woman who birthed him even in death left him breathless.

“I'm certain you now have some idea of whom I am, by the sudden shift in your countenance”. The man's words broke his revere and brought Jon's attention back to him, and at his stiff nod the man continued. 

“I made many mistakes, decisions which led many to their deaths, and before you ask, no, I did not kidnap Lyanna nor would I consider any moment with her a mistake.” He paused before continuing with a sigh. 

 

“I grew to love her, she was unlike any lady within the seven kingdoms, she was…… is, even in death the most unique lady I have ever met. Robert would never be able to change that no matter what lies of his are told Daeron, I have loved your mother and you, since I felt you quickening in her womb”. Almost every word felt like a slap to the face, and had the same effect as Jon's head recoiled, suddenly finding the strength he sprang to his feet and his words were as cold as the North from which he hailed. 

“ My name........ is Jon Snow and Lord Eddard Stark is my father.” Jon kept his eyes on the man claiming to be his sire, while it may have been a great tale and mayhaps the man may not be loose of mind but Eddard Stark would always be his father it mattered not what colourful tale was weaved for him.

The man or apparition, which was true he did not know continued the eye contact before a small smile graced his face before he nodded minutely.

“Aye, that is indeed fact, yet it does not make what I say any less so. You are Daeron Targaryen III and you are my last living son, my first son with my second wife Lyanna Stark.” His so called sire paused and took a step towards him before coming to a halt, perhaps he intimated the older man, the thought almost bought a smirk to Jon's face.

“That is the name given to you by your grandmother, my mother. Your mother nor I were able to name you before the stranger claimed us.” Jon felt an overwhelming need to scoff or just laugh at the absurdity of it all. He had been called many things in his short life a King was not one of them.

 

“If your words are indeed true, what does it matter, we are dead are we not”. Jon meant for his words to at the very least raise his 'father's' ire, but the only response Rheagar gave was a small patient smile, as if he expected the question and the response the younger man gave.

Closing the few feet between the two Rheagar bought his hands up to his sons face forcing their eyes to meet before he spoke. “ Your fate has not yet been decided, the decision will be yours, whether to return or not but to do so you will have to give up what you've wanted your entire life.” Rheagar said softly, eyes soft with an understanding Jon couldn't fathom. “If you decide to live your sister and the rest of our family await you across the narrow sea, the dragon needs three heads, and now our time has come to an end, good bye my son.” Taking a step back Rheagar let his hands drop and as much information as Jon received today he simply wasn't ready for the man proclaiming to be his father to simply vanish upon the wind.

Yes perhaps he was a Targaryen because as sure as the north was cold he was losing his mind.

 

CASTLE BLACK

MAESTERS TOWER

295 A.L

He could feel two pair of hands on him before his eyes fluttered open, the faces before him were unfocused and the voices accompanying them seemed distant. He could still feel hands clumsily pressing against his chest as he tried mostly in vain to decipher his surroundings.

Maester Aemon continued his prodding of the young man on his table under the watchful eyes of boys uncle. The boys skin was burning in heavy contrast with their surroundings, mayhaps it was fever, it was the first of the two thoughts his mind conjured. The second was harder to fathom, yet a part of him, a well hidden part desired it more than anything but dare he hope. His musings were bought to a halt by the creaking of the old wooden door echoing throughout the once quiet room as it opened.

“My prince.” The intruders voice is clear and crisp, and it's one that make the edges of the old maester lips turn upward almost imperceptibly because that second option just became all the more likely.

“Uncle.” Those were the only words Jon heard clearly before his world turned black once more.

 

 

CASTLE BLACK

295 A.L

 

The shadowy figure easily made his way through the castle. The aftermath of the battle provided the perfect cover to move around unhindered, his all black garb also aided him and provided the perfect cover as he blended in with the castle's other occupants. 

His black furs and cloak effectively hiding his prominent features from any would be prying eyes, which was mostly proven to be for naught as every able bodied black bother was currently occupied either building pyres to burn the dead or trying to put out the small fires that were threatening some of the buildings around the castle so even if he was spotted the men paid him no mind. 

With practiced steps he made his way to the maesters tower, sidestepping the stray bodies that were still strewn around the yard. Mechanically walking up the stairs and across the ramparts passing the strategically placed torches, the only source of illumination along the path as he made his way to the maesters tower.

Finally coming upon the door that currently held some of the last remnants of his former life he paused, his hesitation was brief before slowly turning the handle to his nephew's chambers and entering.

It was a scene he had seen before, he had seen it all before. For so long he was removed from basically anything south of the wall, checking in on his last two blood relatives from his father's line sporadically and when he saw this scene play before him he knew it was time, because without this boy Aemon's line and all else will all but vanish like the blackfyres before it.

“My prince.” His voice cracked from lack of use. The speed with which his aged nephew turned his unseeing eyes upon startled even him, before he saw a small smile settled upon his wrinkled face, the other occupant in the room all but forgotten as he heard Aemon's next word.

“Uncle.”

 

UNKNOWN

 

The second time he awoke, there was no confusion. He knew where he was at a first glance, he was in the godswood at Winterfell. Their was no panic not even in the furthest recesses of his mind that was all but screaming at him claiming that this wasn't real, he simply shrugged off the unease as it settled upon him and let the peace that his surroundings offered and let it wash over him. Sitting up from his prone position he stared at the weirwood tree before him committing to memory once again the melancholic face carved into the smooth white bark so many centuries ago.

“Hello sweetling.” The soft feminine voice sounded from behind him, yet it broached no instinctual inner alarms in him. He just closed his eyes and tried to commit the voice to memory because if his previous 'vision' held any truth he had a pretty strong suspicion as to who was behind him. 

A girl almost a woman grown of about ten and six sat on a rock her feet tucked beneath her, her blue dress contrasted perfectly with her alabaster skin and a circlet of cerulean coloured winter roses sat upon her mane of mahogany curls that flowed effortlessly down her back. She was naught but a few feet away looking down at him yet the distance seemed to encompass the whole of westeros and more to his unresponsive feet, with a look he had only seen directed towards his siblings, her eyes held his in place, eyes so similar to Eddard Stark and his little sister Arya that he felt his mouth go dry as he was suddenly engulfed by an emotion that he couldn't possibly fathom in his state.

“Come my little dragonwolf,” she beckoned to the extra space on the rock with which she sat.

Her words nor the meaning with which it conveyed were not lost on Jon but for the moment he chose to let her do the talking simply because he couldn't yet form any. The scene before him was as surreal as his previous encounter with the supposed dead prince and so far this meeting has left him just as stumped. 

After what seemed like ages he readily summoned his wit and his footing ignoring the dried cobalt leaves and mud that stuck to his black trousers and speedily did as was asked of him and settled himself next to Lyanna Stark upon the rock that he's seen his father Eddard Stark sit countless times as he cleaned Ice or pray to the old gods before the heart tree.

“I did not get enough time with you young one, I only held you in mine own arms but for a moment.” Lyanna all but whispered as she bought her dainty right hand up and placed it almost reverently upon his now scared left cheek. Her voice so soft yet thick with unrestrained sadness that it barely carried across the short expanse towards Jon, yet he could still hear the raw emotion with which her voice held. 

Tortuously his thoughts rolled over and over in his head as if on some sick loop as even more doubt crept into his mind, was it that simple, could his whole life have been a lie

His whole life was centered around one truth, he was a bastard, a privileged one at that but if that was actually better than any other child that carried the name Snow or Hill or any other variation placed upon the natural born children of Westeros he could never say. Aye he never went hungry and he was learned but to what purpose. Mentally shaking himself to rid himself of all those negative thoughts and simply enjoy the moment. Ever so gently he leaned into the hand on his cheek. The small action gave him the necessary courage the give voice to the only question that mattered.

“Is it true.” His voice was low but sure in his inquiry and Lyanna was well aware of what was being asked and she found her lips curving upwards if even a little because in that moment she couldn't of been prouder of the young man he was becoming as she saw the resolution settle over his face.

“Yes, Jon you are my son with Rheagar Targaryen.” Lyanna watched as the stoic expression etched upon his face crumbled no matter how much he seemed to fight it. 

Sighing Lyanna removed her hands from his face and pulled his body to hers and wrapped her hands around him as he wept silently. It was the least that could be done right now and she knew this simple act meant as much to her as it did him.

How long Jon stayed wrapped in the embrace he couldn't be sure nor did he care he just savored every last second, here with Lyanna Stark….. His mother.

“You must be strong sweetling, even stronger than you've been.” Lyanna paused and pulled back to stare into her son's similar eyes, if not by colour but by the pain and sadness reflected in them. Bringing her hands up to Jon's face she held his dark gaze to hers before continuing.

“You must be strong for this is only the beginning and the challenges before you will surely test that, always remember you are as much dragon as you are wolf, so never forget who you are,” and with that she draws him into another embrace before placing a kiss onto his thick wavy russet hair.

“I have always loved you Daeron never forget that, and when the time comes for the stranger to take you I will be right here waiting to hold you in my arms once more, now go your uncles are awaiting you.” 

Before he could object his world turned black once more before heat enveloped his whole being and his eyes closed instinctually before bursting open once more only to be met by his own face shrouded in flames.

 

CASTLE BLACK

295 A.L

Benjen Stark watched on helplessly as the flames engulfed his nephew's body. The smoke rising from this single pyre burned his eyes as the smell of burnt leather filled his nostrils, blinking away the moisture that gathered behind his lids he resumed his vigil over Jon's body. What started off as fifteen brothers including their Lord Commander Jeor Mormont quickly whittled away to three.

The other pyres that filled the courtyard of Castle Black were already burnt out leaving behind only charred bones and ash where men once stood. Men that he once called brother reduced to nothing in the space of a few hours, the thought alone left him sick and with every change in direction of the wind the acrid smell of burnt flesh would assault him and churn what little content there was in his stomach.

The silence amongst the three men stretched on, for how long though Benjen just couldn't bring himself to care after his nephew's last right's were read and the kindle that surrounded him was lit, the cold that permeated the early morning air was all but forgotten as well, the longer he stood in the ankle deep snow continuing his watch.

The crackle of the fire upon the small pyre where his nephew's body lay seemed to drown out every other noise within the stronghold of the night's watch until suddenly everything got eerily silent before the flames upon the fire flared up into a blinding white light. 

Benjen had to cover his eyes and in the seconds that past and he readjusted his vision to his nephew's pyre the fire was completely quenched and sitting upon his still prone soot covered chest were three glowing eggs that emanated the same heat as the pyre before it, what in the, was as far as his thoughts would carry him before tempered voice of his hooded companion broke his revere. 

“The time is upon us Aemon, the age of dragons have returned.” 

Looking over towards Bryden after his statement he saw where the man focus was and followed his line of sight skywards. He felt the muscles in his face grow slack, the tension there replaced with shock at the sight before him, there shooting through darkness was what appeared to be a large flaming mass streeking across the night sky leaving a reddish hue in it's aftermath as it disappeared from his view into the vast darkness of the night sky.

“What in the name of the old gods.” Benjen muttered to himself after he finally regained his wits and it was then that he saw him, sitting up amongst the extinguished logs and kindle seemingly unburnt was the naked figure of his nephew covered in soot with three small reptillian creatures roughly the size of an average dog pup cradled to his sternum by his right hand, all with their heads lifted skywards screeching bloody murder towards the heavens. 

Jon's head turned towards first, Aemon then Bryden before finally settling upon him with unseeing milky white eyes, gone were his obsidian irises.Stealing his resolve Benjen made a cautious step forward then another and another until he was within touching distance .

“Jon.” his voice sounded pathetic even when it reached his own ears yet apparently it was enough to catch Jon's attention as his milky white eyes soon faded away to reveal the obsidian irises that Benjen was so familiar with, but the intensity with which he stared back, unblinkingly before he answered in a voice that seemed to reverberate throughout the silent courtyard.

“That is not my name.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No doubt their are a few errors here but you can guess by my authors name I'm more than partially inebriated right now, so hopefully all errors can be forgiven until my significant other sees fit to correct them.
> 
> Enjoy.

**Author's Note:**

> It's after 3 in the morning plus I'm still kinda drunk so hopefully all the spelling, grammar and punctuation mistakes may be forgiven.
> 
> This came about after I left the bar and a had some ideas so I boot up the laptop and crank this out in bout 45, maybe it's good maybe it ain't, I definitely can't tell right now.
> 
> So enjoy.


End file.
